


I've Kissed a Girl

by gracesfonda



Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: F/F, Post-Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 18:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17565335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracesfonda/pseuds/gracesfonda
Summary: “I’ve kissed a girl,” Grace mutters, and she doesn’t look like the same Grace Frankie knows. She doesn’t resemble the strong woman who is always sure of herself even if she isn’t. She looks vulnerable, lost, almost as though she doesn’t even believe the words she’s spoken herself. Frankie knows this is the first time she’s ever spoken those words out loud, assumes Grace goes as far as not allowing herself to even think about it, let alone do anything about it.





	I've Kissed a Girl

**Author's Note:**

> okayyyyy, here is my quick take as to what might have happened the night of the sleepover while i'm bored at work. i would have loved to make this ALOT more smutty, but frankly i just don't think that's what happened but i'll probably write a different fic about grace's mystery woman and the smut that it inspires between her and Frankie. as always, i love your feedback so please leave it :)

As soon as the words slip out of Frankie’s mouth, she knows this time is different from the rest. The words themselves are nothing out of the ordinary: “Show me yours, I’ll show you mine.” Nothing out of her norm. Nothing Grace couldn’t easily deflect. 

Except she didn’t, and that changes everything. It stole the breath right from Frankie’s strong lungs, their exercise of choice being years of smoking pot and contagious, uncontrollable laughter. Grace’s words left her falling back against the small mattress on the floor, faking the most realistic laugh she could muster while every inch of her body came alive by Grace’s simple response: “Do you want to have sex with me or what?”

Frankie knew she was joking, she knew Grace wasn’t serious. Her hand flew to her chest, rubbed her sternum while she rolled with fake laughter, she didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t even know how to breathe. Had Grace taken the fuck it life that literally? Literal enough to actually fuck it, the it being Frankie. Had she finally seen the way Frankie looks at her? Did Frankie somehow give herself away? 

Of course she wanted to have sex with Grace. She wanted to make her feel as good as she makes Frankie feel, just by being in her presence. Of course she fucking wants to. “No,” Frankie hears the word leave her lips, see’s the look that crosses Grace’s face. Want, longing, She squeezes her thighs together lightly. Words shouldn’t do this to me, not anymore, Frankie thinks.

“I just love how uncomfortable it makes you.” Stay on solid ground, Frankie she instructs herself, before this gets fucking messy. You and Grace don’t do messy well. Babe, Vybrant, Floor People, Santa Fe, Walden Villas. The memories flood her veins, they come rushing back in ways she didn’t know possible. The light brush of a hand here, lips against her skin there, midnight whispers shared in the same bed, facetime calls ending in haste and tears, the almost silent hum of a vibrator through the thin walls and muffled cries into pillows. Yeah, we don’t do messy well, Frankie hears echoing in her mind so loud she almosts misses it when Grace begins speaking again. 

“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable, Frankie,” Grace has her cup of vodka resting between her long fingers, her legs propped up on the edge of the mattress, and her perfect posture no longer exists at this moment. The pigs have finally fallen asleep behind Frankie’s back, leaving the room much too quiet for Frankie’s liking and probably Grace’s too. “I’ve kissed a girl,” Grace mutters, and she doesn’t look like the same Grace Frankie knows. She doesn’t resemble the strong woman who is always sure of herself even if she isn’t. She looks vulnerable, lost, almost as though she doesn’t even believe the words she’s spoken herself. Frankie knows this is the first time she’s ever spoken those words out loud, assumes Grace goes as far as not allowing herself to even think about it, let alone do anything about it. 

To Grace it’s probably just another thing to add to the long list of things she deprives herself of, a thing she’s buried down deep inside of herself, something that could be ignored. But, the beast was out of its cage now, and how can you ignore a beast that’s been starving for as long as it can remember? A beast that’s never been fully satisfied. 

Frankie feels the air thicken around her. She feels the walls closing in on her and holds back the moan in the base of her throat. She sucks in a deep breath between her clenched teeth and lets her eyes settle on Grace. 

“You have not!” 

“A lot of things happened before you came on the scene.” Grace lifts her glass to her mouth and takes a drink. The same mouth that had found itself on another woman’s, the same mouth that had been upon Frankie’s delicate skin. Frankie watches the vodka slide down her throat and she realizes her own mouth is painfully dry. Maybe more dry than it ever had been, more dry than she ever knew it could be. 

She swallows. “Tell me! Tell me!” Frankie squeals, almost sounding like the pigs behind her. Her eyes settle on the vodka between them, knowing she was going to need it she adds: “Pour me some!” 

“There’s not much to tell,” Grace shrugs. Her eyes don’t reach Frankie’s, they search the space around her, avoiding her.

“Well, tell me what there is to tell then. Don’t hold out on me!” Frankie had meant it to be a joke, but it fell from her lips desperately. Like if Grace didn’t tell her, she might die. And, she honestly thought that might be true. 

“I was young, high school young.” Grace pauses, her eyes are distant, like she’s thinking back on a story she forgot the details of, she raises her glass to her lips and takes another drink. Frankie does the same. “I had never kissed anyone, and my best friend, Jess, had kissed lots of boys. Well, not lots. At the time lots, but now looking back it was hardly anything. Anyway, one day she convinced me to skip band practice to smoke cigarettes in the bathroom and after one too many sips from her flask, I was telling her I was nervous to go to the dance with Jerome because I had never been kissed.” 

Frankie looked at Grace’s face, the years of wrinkles that settled in her skin made her beautiful. More beautiful than she had been, they gave her life. 

“Frankie?” Grace questioned, Frankie shook her head out of her daze. “If you aren’t listening to my story, why am I bothering to tell it?”

“I’m sorry. I got distracted by how beautiful you are,” Frankie admits. She watches the light in Grace’s eyes ignite, she wishes it happened more. “Jess really was lucky,” Frankie blurts out, her fingers tighten around the edge of the mattress as she awaits Grace’s scold, but it never comes. When she looks back at Grace, her eyes are closed. 

“I told her I’d never been kissed, and she just leaned in and did it. No warning, nothing. It was simple, it wasn’t anything special. But--”

“But what, Grace?” Frankie asked, she sat closer now. The climax of the story had drawn her in, without her even realizing it. Her hand sat centimeters away from Grace and she was almost positive she could feel the heat radiating from it, but that could be because it was chilly in the deserted beach house. “You can tell me.”

Grace looked up from whatever her eyes had fixated on and she let her eye’s meet Frankie’s. Grace sucked a deep breath in through her nose, opened her mouth and waited for the words to spill out, words she’d never spoken before, words she thought she’d take to her grave.

“But,” Grace began, “I’ve never again felt like I did with Jess’ lips pressed against mine. Not even when Jerome gave me my first orgasm, not with Robert, or Phil, or Guy, or Byron even. The only exception is once….I felt more from so much less--” 

Grace stopped again, the panic on her face was visible. She had exposed too much. Much too much. And Frankie was never going to stop prying. Grace knew this could happen, knew it happened with Frankie much too often: she had a way of making her feel comfortable, making her want to share things she never had before.

“Grace?” Frankie asks, her voice is a whisper, and suddenly she’s very close to Grace. Very, very close. Grace knows there’s many different things Frankie is asking at once but all she can focus on is the room getting smaller around them. Frankie’s invaded her personal space, she’s practically on her lap. Frankie’s fingers are tracing the skin of Grace’s palm, Grace can feel her hot breath against her cheek. She refuses to look at her, refuses to take her eyes off the pattern of the sheet on the mattress in front of her. 

“I think we’ve had enough sharing for one night,” Grace deflects. Her eyes finally meet Frankie’s, and even though minutes ago they were glowing, the light in them had diminished. It made her look older than she was, and Frankie longed to touch her. To reach out and put the light back in her eyes. 

“Grace.” Frankie’s voice is thick, and sweet. It draws her in but her name sounds different now, different than she’s ever heard it. Like, when you write a word too many times and suddenly you’re sure that word never existed in the first place. 

“If I spill everything tonight, what will that leave us to talk about at our next sleepover?” Grace asks, she shoes Frankie off her mattress and back into her own space. Where it was less crowded, where she could breathe her own air, where Grace could think clearly without their skin pressed together making her head spin. 

“There’s lots of things to do besides talk at a sleepover,” Frankie mutters as she lays down on the stiff, small mattress. As she tries to get comfortable, she peeks open her eye and sees the hint of a smile lingering on Grace’s plump lips.

“Goodnight, Frances,” Grace whispers as she turns out the flashlight. The darkness surrounds them now but as Frankie mutters back “Nighty, night, night, night, night,” more times than she can count, Grace knows there’s nowhere on earth she’d rather be than laying across from the one person who made her feel more with a single look than every man in her life ever had and the girl who kissed her over sixty years ago.


End file.
